The Traps
by Aspirare
Summary: A wild hunt for energon, a mysterious anomaly deep below the Siberian tundra, a storm of the century, and a lightning strike on experimental technology? Sam figures he can count this as a bad day. Too bad it's only the beginning. TFPrime/Movie crossover.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Traps

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ and all related characters therein do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Spoilers:** Some for Transformers: Dark of the Moon.

**Summary: **A wild hunt for energon, a strange anomaly detected deep under the Siberian tundra, a storm of the century, a lightning strike on experimental technology, and being sucked into an parallel universe? Sam Witwicky figures that he can count this as one of his worser days. Too bad it's only the beginning.

**Universe:** Movieverse/Transformers: Prime crossover, with the majority of the story occuring in Prime!verse.

PART I.

The entire camp was in chaos. A storm had come much faster than anyone had anticipated, and soldiers and Autobots alike were shouting to be heard over the thunder, orders barked out to protect the research equipment from the rain and hail. It was already late in the evening, the sky black from the loss of the setting sun and the blanketing clouds. Even with the floodlights, there was little to be done for visibility, and the downpour had rendered the ground into nothing more than a sticky mudpit. What was worse was that Sam could count this setback as only the latest in the series of mishaps that had plagued the expedition during its three-week search for energon deposits deep in the Siberian Traps of northern Russia.

A group of soldiers were loading the last of the energon sensors into one of the Jeeps, and Sam ducked around them to reach the one tent that had yet to be packed up. Soaked through to the skin despite his parka, Sam was only too happy for the momentary break from the freezing, torrential rain. Already inside were two men, sitting in a puddle of water that had flooded the tent but seemingly oblivious to it as they huddled in front of a laptop, which set on top of an equipment case to keep it off the ground. They were arguing quietly in Russian. One was Dr. Richard Allen, a scientist out of the United States Geological Survey and whose reputation for his expertise in paleosedimentology had earned him a recommendation from the U.S. government specifically to Optimus Prime to lead the research team. The other was Dr. Ivan Radanovich, Allen's Russian counterpart and who had joined the team a week and half into the investigation, once it was revealed that the American team was maybe onto something, after all.

In the dim green glow of the computer screen, both men were showing signs of the trip's strain: both faces were lined with dirt and grime from digging, and Allen had complained to everyone who would listen about each gray hair that had showed up during the past three weeks. It made Sam grateful that he had crossed 'field scientist' off of his list of 'things I want to be when I grow up' long ago.

"Hey," Sam greeted as he kneeled down next to them, looking over Allen's shoulder at the computer screen. "What's the story?"

"We're still having trouble calibrating some of the more sensitive sensors for the basalt deposits and magnetite," Radanovich answered in heavily accented English. "The volcanic rock is interfering with some of the scans, and the storm is turning things more difficult."

"Difficult?" Allen cut in. "I was going to say 'clusterfuck.' And then every time I think we're good to go, we get something weird. But I think I almost have it, now."

Sam shook his head. "Weather service is tracking a second line of storms right behind this one. Major Lennox has ordered us all for immediate evac."

"Okay, well, he realizes that without this data set, it's all going to be useless, right? We've already lost the Guli and Angara sites to contamination and equipment malfunction, and Kotuy turned up nothing. Without Aryzhangskaya too, this will have just been a month long tour of Nowhere, Siberia."

"There's nothing we can do about it." It was Will who interrupted, the front flap of the tent pulled open to admit him. "The lightning's getting worse. Ratchet just commed me and said that he's going to try and connect the groundbridge."

Sam blinked, and even Allen raised an eyebrow in skepticism while Radanovich paled considerably. The groundbridge technology was still new; it had been of Que's design, as he had been working on creating a modification of spacebridge technology for shorter, overland distances. It had never gotten further than the preliminary experimental stages before the battle in Chicago, and a lot of his data had been lost with him. All that he had left behind of his studies were datapads containing the groundbridge blueprints and some of his mathematical calculations, and Ratchet had been spent the past several months attempting to fill in the blanks. As the Chief Medical Officer, he was the closest thing the Autobots on Earth had to a scientist, but as of late, all Ratchet could offer was that he was 'pretty fairly sure' that he knew what Que was doing and that their current bridge would 'probably' work.

Will shrugged. "We're out in the middle of a field, during a thunderstorm, with no adequate shelter, tens of thousands of dollars of equipment, the nearest airport eight hours away, and three gigantic lightning rods known as the Wreckers. I say we give the groundbridge a shot. Besides, Ratchet says that on the trial runs, Wheelie went through the bridge and came back just fine."

That was true enough, but Sam also happened to remember that the test subject had been far less than willing, and his screeched predictions of atomization had convinced many of the soldiers on base to swear off the groundbridge entirely and to instantly disappear whenever Ratchet came searching for volunteer testers.

"Besides," Will added, turning his head to focus on Sam, any light-heartedness dissolving out of his expression, leaving behind a seriousness that had its shadows in Mission City and Chicago. "They think that Thundercracker and Skywarp have intercepted some of our communications with the base and know that we're out here."

Sam flinched, feeling all the colder from the sweat that suddenly broke out across the back of his neck, his throat constricting around the sensation of his heart pushing its way up out of his chest. With Megatron and most of the top-ranking Decepticons dead, what was left of the faction had no leader, no direction, and their continued migration to Earth had found them taking out their anarchy on humankind. Out of all of them, Optimus had named Skywarp and Thundercracker the worst of the threat. They had served under Starscream as part of a three-mech team—a trine, Optimus had called it—and they rightfully blamed Sam for the death of their group's leader, making no secret of their planned revenge.

"So, pack it up," Will said. "Let's get out of here." He left, and Sam could feel the heavy weight of both Allen's and Radanovich's concerned stares. They were silent with any further protest, and given Allen's rather vocal nature, the threat of the two Seekers must have spooked him deeply.

"Ivan, if you go help with the sediment cores and the augers, I'll pack up the GPR array and radiation detectors," Allen finally said, and Radanaovich nodded his agreement.

"Wait," Sam stopped them. He looked over at Allen. "You said that you almost have the computer calibrated?"

"Yeah. Well, the computer has been saying that the whole system's been ready to go for the past hour, but everytime we get a readout on the subsurface scans, we get a really weird anomaly that's not consistent with the rest of the data. There has to be a computer error somewhere; I just haven't been able to find it."

"And I say there's isn't an error," Radanovich said. "If the GPR is picking up a subsurface anomaly, we have to count it is part of the data on the strata."

"And I would agree with you if we were getting the same anomaly with every scan," Allen countered in a tone that spoke of an argument several hours old. "Here, Sam, look." With a few quick keystroke, Allen pulled up the readouts of the past several GPR scans. While Sam could never claim to understand anything about what he was supposed to be seeing about the varying shades of gray that the ground penetrating radar had produced, he did see a large dark mass that did seem to fit oddly into the images. "You can see that on this one, it's about 200 meters down, and it's large enough that I can't get an estimate of its square kilometer coverage. Then, one this one, it's only about 50 meters down and probably has an area less than 20 meters squared. And then in this one, it doesn't show up at all. On the last scan, it was back and still registering as fairly small, but about 50 meters to the south. Not only is it changing shape on us, it's moving. A few more scans and I may be able to work out a better subsurface profile."

"The anomalies are in too close a vicinity to each other to make it an error," Radanovich snapped in frustration. "It is the lightning. The groundstrikes are interfering with the return echoes and is confusing the radar. We are looking at a substantial foreign deposit."

"What we need is to dig," Allen stated. "And look for it ourselves rather than let the computers do it."

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, Will reentered the tent.

"All right, the groundbridge—what the hell are you guys still doing?"

"Science," Sam answered.

"Well, stop it! The groundbridge is up, and we've already sent the Wreckers and the first of the Jeeps through, and they've cleared it. Prime wants the three of you to be through next."

Allen shook his head. "We still have to get this equipment packed up, and I don't want any of your men to be fumbling around with it. It's too delicate."

Will narrowed his eyes at the insult, but he had grown too used to Allen's inherent abrasiveness to make anything of it.

"Will, send the rest of your men through," Sam cut in. "Dr. Allen, Dr. Radanovich, you guys get the computers and inner GPR stakes. I'll go get the eastern perimeter stake. I promise not to drop it this time!" he added at Allen's expression.

"No. Prime ordered us to get you into the bridge," Will argued. Sam tightened the hood of his parka and, grabbing a dry-pack out of the corner and slinging it up onto his shoulder, he pushed his way around Will and stepped back outside to break into a run.

"Go get everyone else through, and tell Optimus I'll be there in a minute!" he called back over his shoulder.

"_You_ tell him!" Will yelled before growling and turning back to Allen and Radanovich. "I'm going to kill that kid. All right, let's get all this ready to go. We'll leave the tent."

Sam ran across the remains of the research site, squinting against the pelting rain, with only the bright forks of lightning to illuminate the way. It was slow going, the ground chewed up from the heavier machinery and tire tracks, with muddy puddles filling in the divots. Tripping over the edges of the Wreckers' footprints, and with the thunder snapping across the plain and rattling the very ground beneath his feet, Sam was maybe willing to admit that this one of his worser ideas. The eastern unit of the GPR array was nearly a quarter-mile out from the heart of the camp, but no matter how much Will would have argued in favor of abandoning it, Sam knew of its importance in the Autobots' search for energon.

The technology that they had on the expedition was _all _that they had; the geology equipment was of primarily human design and purpose, and only a few weeks between the discovery of potential mines on Earth and this first scouting mission had left the Autobots little time to modify and upgrade it to search specifically for such an alien mineral. Time was always in short supply, and the never-ending game of 'catch-up,' played ever since the arrival of Optimus's team in 2007, was wearing thin on both the Autobots and the U.S. government; the loss of such a valuable—_and very expensive!_ as Allen had routinely reminded them—piece of equipment would set everyone further back than Sam knew would be acceptable.

At the very least, five days' worth of maintenance trips and memory led him to the GPR unit easily enough, and Sam tore out its marker flag before bending over to pull it out of the ground. Slipping his fingers under the flat head of the unit, Sam dug his feet in and pulled, the muscles in his shoulders protesting against the weight and suction of the mud. The stake had been buried deep, and he had to drop to one knee to gain extra leverage. He himself was sinking slightly, the saturated soil up past his ankle and nearly covering the calf of his folded leg, and the smooth, wet surface of the unit head was making his grip difficult.

His wrist communicator, given to him by Bumblebee for the purpose of being able to call on the Autobots in case of an emergency, beeped loudly and hissed with static before Will's voice came through.

"Sam, Allen and Radanovich made it through the bridge. Where the hell are you?"

"I'm at the eastern unit," Sam replied through gritted teeth. "It's stuck."

"Leave it! Prime is after me to get your ass through the bridge, and if I have to come out there to get you, you're not going to like it!"

"No, no, I got it!" Sam exclaimed, as he twisted the unit and there was a noticeable break in the grip around the stake. "I'll be there in just a few moments."

"_Move it_, Sam! Ratchet just said that he's beginning to have trouble sustaining the bridge's connection on this end—he doesn't want to keep it open for much longer."

Sam pulled the unit entirely free, and, folding the stake, he stuffed it into his dry-pack. "Then you go on through. I have the unit and I'm literally on my way back right now."

"No way, kid. I'm not going to be the one to answer to Prime when you're either left here by yourself or vaporized in a collapsing bridge."

With the weight of the GPR jostling against his back, his muscles already sore and aching from almost a month of inhospitable field conditions, Sam panted with the exertion of running back to camp, and he was only too grateful when he could finally see the glowing, purple entrance to the groundbridge, Will forming a dark silhouette against it as he waited for Sam. Less inviting was the way the bridge was flickering at the edges and the static buzz underneath its otherwise deep, harmonic hum.

"Go!" Sam shouted, waving Will forward. "Go! I'm coming!"

Will raised his arm and acknowledgment before turning and disappearing into the vortex. Sam was close behind, only ten feet from the bridge when there was a flash, impossibly bright, and Sam did not even have time to think before he was thrown backwards, eardrums threatening to fold under the sudden pressure and sharp crack of thunder.

Dazed and disoriented, Sam struggled for purchase against the ground, instinctively to stand despite the dizziness and gasping for the breath that had been knocked from him. Only when the spots began to clear from his vision did he notice that the bridge was gone and that Ratchet was yelling for him across his communicator. It was having trouble with the distance though, and the satellites struggled to transmit the signals through the thick and ionized thunderheads, resulting in only a garbled mess of words that Sam could barely hear.

"Sam! Respond! –Happened?"

"Lightning," Sam hissed as he got to his knees, head swimming. "I don't think I got hit, but…but that was really close. Ratchet, where's the bridge?"

"—Having a hard—copying, Sam. The bridge—struck. There's something strange—the volcanic—polarity. Attempting—reset the—"

Whatever Ratchet was trying to say was lost in the static, and Sam tapped at the communicator. "Ratchet? Ratchet, you still there?"

But there was no answer, and Sam shrugged away the drypack as he crouched down, tucking his head into his knees. The field was wide open, with the nearest tree line almost a mile out, and with the storm unshy with its lightning, there was little he could do except try and follow the drills barely remembered from elementary school. Even being chased singlehandedly by Megatron was better than this, and he had to focus to slow his breathing and heart rate down.

"Ratchet," he murmured into his knees. "Please."

And there was a hum, a vibration, and as Sam felt the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to stand, he braced himself against the inevitable strike before he realized that it was coming from the air around him, and he looked up to see the bridge flare into existence in front of him. It was flickering, and pausing, and sunk halfway into the ground, but it was _there_, and Sam smiled in astonished relief. "Ratchet," he said into his communicator. "You're brilliant."

Though there was no reply, Sam climbed to his feet, pushing his body through the still rolling nausea and pounding headache as he grabbed his pack and made a desperate jump into the bridge.

888888

"So, when are going to get to the _real_ mission?" Miko asked as she ducked behind a rock, disappearing momentarily before peering up over the top to search for the imaginary Decepticons who had her surrounded.

"This _is_ the real mission," Bulkhead corrected as he walked up behind her, stopping to check the scanner in his hand. "Arcee, you got anything yet?"

"Nada," Arcee answered, optics focused on her own scanner as Jack trailed at her feet. Miko sighed and leaned backwards to pout up at Bulkhead.

"But this is so boring!" she complained. "All we're doing is walking around in circles in the middle of nowhere. And all we've found is a bunch of nothing. Just some rocks and grass."

"That's pretty much what a scouting mission is, kid," Arcee said. "And believe me when I say that finding 'nothing' is often much better than finding 'something.'"

"Especially when that 'something' is often ready to blast you into a million pieces of scrap," Bulkhead agreed.

"Well, hopefully that 'something' will be energon, out here," Raf said from his perch on Bumblebee's shoulder, geology book in hand. "It says here that the Siberian Traps are about the size of western Europe, and are the remnants of a supervolcano that erupted 251 million years ago. The eruption coincided with the Permian mass extinction, which wiped out 95% of all life on Earth. The eruption is marked by a distinct layer of rock all across the world, marking the Permian-Triassic boundary, and the Traps themselves are characterized by the extensive flood basalts—"

"Fascinating," Arcee interrupted. Miko, who, despite having perked up at the mention of a 'supervolcano,' was draped over the rock and pretending to be asleep. Raf coughed and adjusted his glasses, book snapping shut.

"Yes, well, in any case, with all of the past volcanic activity, I wouldn't be surprised if you guys found some deposits out here. The extent and duration of the Siberian eruption would help be explained if it were at least in part fueled by a material with such a combustible material as large fields of raw energon."

"If there's so much energon, then why haven't the Decepticons already found it?" Jack questioned, taking advantage of their momentary break and sitting down on the ground.

Miko scoffed. "Probably because even they think it's a total waste, out here. I never thought I'd say this, but can we go home yet?"

Arcee rolled her optics, but Bumblebee interrupted any potential protest with his own agreement, humming and chirping as he gestured at the kids. All three were looking hopefully at Arcee, and despite their heavy coats and gloves, were beginning to shiver in the late Russian autumn.

"Yeah, Arcee, Bumblebee's right. We haven't found anything yet, and it's getting late. We should probably get them back indoors before night falls," Bulkhead said. Arcee sighed and subspaced her scanner.

"All right," she said. "I know when I'm outvoted." She reached up and tapped her audio, connecting her feed back to base. "Ratchet, we're coming up empty-handed. You sure that your scans were correct?"

"My scans are _always_ correct," came the reply, haughty and offended but without any real heat. "You think I would send you all out on a wild scraplet chase just to finally get some peace and quiet around here?"

"Well, we're ready to call it a day. Can you give us a bridge?"

"I can if you just give me a few minutes. I'm still working through some of the stranger readings I got when I opened the bridge to let you all through earlier."

"Is there a problem with the bridge?" Arcee questioned.

"No, not exactly. Not as far as I can tell. But I want to make sure that it's properly calibrated before I open it again."

"Fine, but just don't leave us stranded out here."

"Never even entered my processor. I'll have it up in a clik."

Arcee turned to her companions, one shoulder rising in a half-shrug. "We have to wait."

"Maybe it's all the magnetite, disrupting the bridge," Raf offered. "Jack did say that his compass was off a few times."

"My internal GPS has been a little glitchy, too," Bulkhead added. "It's starting to give me a headache."

Arcee opened her mouth to respond, but she was cut off by the hum of the groundbridge as it opened, its vortex swirling slowly against the background of an empty plain and gray, overcast sky. "Doesn't matter, now," she said. "Let's go. We can—and it's gone," she sighed as the bridge flickered out of existence before any of them had taken more than two steps. "Ratchet, what's the deal?"

"Sorry," Ratchet answered. "I had to reset it. The diagnostic said that the connection on that one was too unstable. Here."

The bridge opened again, but Arcee paused, optics narrowing. "Ratchet, are you sure that the coordinates are correct?"

"Everything's fine on my end. What are you reading them as?"

Arcee ran the bridge's profile through her own scanners, once, twice, and then through a diagnostic just to be sure. She could hear Bumblebee buzzing in confusion behind her as he did the same.

"Well, the bridge's coordinates are saying that it…leads right back here."

"That's impossible."

"I'm telling you, I—" but Arcee stopped as the bridge flickered, as it _rippled_, and a subsonic vibration was creeping its way up her legs from the ground. "Ratchet—" she winced against the sudden screech of feedback in her audios, and she stepped backwards.

"What's happening?" Jack asked as he stood, and Miko was shrinking away from the way Bulkhead was twitching, his optics flickering with each attempted reset of his own audial feeds. Gritting her dental plates, Arcee motioned Jack away. The feedback had crossed the border into painful, sending a splinter of white hot light through her processor and down into her shoulder struts and chest. "Move," she said. "Kids, get back! The bridge is malfunctioning!"

Jack and Miko had enough sense to obey, and Raf slid down off of Bumblebee and ran to catch up with them.

"We need to get out of here!" Bulkhead shouted, and he, Bumblebee, and Arcee were quick behind the kids, with Arcee snapping her dental plates at the sound of a building explosion behind them.

"Everyone! Duck!" she yelled, and they all fell to the ground, each of the Autobots throwing themselves over Jack, Miko, and Raf as the bridge _tore_, ripping in half with the sound of a cannon blast. Though the resultant shockwave was less than Arcee had been anticipating, she still had to cycle her vents several times to keep her emergency battle systems from taking over her processor.

All was quiet for a moment, the sound of the explosion dissipating across the field like distant thunder as Jack unraveled himself from the protective ball he had tucked into.

"Jack, are you okay?" Arcee asked, automatically running scans over the boy beneath her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answered. "Miko?"

"All good here," she called out from under Bulkhead's hand. "How about you, Raf? Still in one piece?"

"Um, guys? Look," was what Raf said, and almost as one they all turned back to look at the site of the former groundbridge. The earth was scorched in a wide diameter, the grass blackened and flat, with broken twigs in place of what little shrubs had been there to begin with and the smell of burnt soil heavy in the chilled air. And in the middle of it all, a human, soaking wet and bleeding from a cut above his left eye, was climbing to his hands and knees. He was not so very far from them, and Arcee could hear him talking.

"Oh, man. Wheelie was right. That hurts. That's going to bruise."

Arcee's shock at such a strange sight was ended by the realization that whoever this human was, he had a _weapon_ on him, and she spun to her feet, gun practically materializing in her hand as she pointed it at him. It was a large enough movement that it caught the human's attention, and Arcee could tell that it took him a moment to focus on her before his eyes went wide and he fell, scrambling backwards across the ground.

"_Decepticons_," he hissed, and while Arcee blinked at the accusation, she lifted her gun higher at the sight of him reaching for his hip.

"Freeze!" she exclaimed, and he did so, staring back at her with an expression mixed between defiance and terror. "Who are you?" she demanded, bristling when he didn't answer. "I said, _who are you?_ Are you with MECH?"

The human frowned, brows furrowing in confusion as he looked around, gaze drifting behind her, and Arcee saw him blink twice at the sight of Bumblebee, expression loosening into something like recognition.

"Arcee," Bulkhead said quietly. "Look at his jacket."

She did, and despite the tears and dirt covering it, there was an Autobot symbol, red and unmistakeable, emblazoned on the pocket over his heart, with the word 'NEST' written below it.

"Where am I?" he demanded.

"How did you get here?" Arcee asked instead. The human narrowed his eyes.

"I asked you first."

There was a sound suspiciously like chuckling from Bumblebee's vocalizer, and Arcee silenced him with a glare before turning her attention back to the new human.

"And yet I'm the one with the bigger gun," she said. "What's your name?"

The human looked entirely unwilling, but answered all the same. "Sam. Sam Witwicky."

"Who are you with?"

"Sector Seven. NEST division, under Optimus Prime. Now how about you tell me who you are who you're with."

Stunned, Arcee took a step back, gun wavering as she lowered her arm.

"No way!" It was Miko this time, and Arcee shuttered her optics in frustration at the girl's inability to stay quiet and hidden. "Did he just say 'Optimus Prime'?"

"Miko!" Jack scolded, stepping out from around Arcee's heel, Sam staring at both him and Miko as Miko came forwards. "He could be with MECH!"

"He just said he knew Optimus!" Miko replied. "Besides, all of the MECH guys are old and ugly. So, I'm Miko, that's Jack, Rafael, Bumblebee, Arcee, and of course, my buddy Bulkhead."

Bumblebee waved, chirping in a cheerful, friendly greeting. Sam sat up straighter, gaze locking on him. "Bumblebee? But…You're…you're all Autobots?"

Miko nodded, cocking her hip and flashing a victory sign at him. "That's right!"

"Did you come through the groundbridge?" Raf asked, speaking up for the first time, pushing his glasses farther back up his nose from where they had slipped during his fall.

"The groundbridge," Sam repeated, finally looking away from Bumblebee to check over his shoulder. "Is this…Siberia?"

"Yep!" Miko answered, and Arcee hardly needed her scanners to pick up the sudden increase in Sam's breathing, eyes growing wider by the second.

"The groundbridge," Sam said again. "Yeah, I…I came through the groundbridge. I was in Siberia, and this is Siberia. And you're Autobots, but, but see…you aren't." Sam climbed to his feet, quickly, and Arcee raised her gun again slightly at the now panicking human. "That can't be Bumblebee. There was a storm, and Ratchet was telling me to get through the groundbridge, and everyone was yelling at me, and there was lightning—_I got hit by lightning!_—that's it! I was hit by lightning, and see, I must have died, because you're not the Autobots and I have no idea who you three people are!"

Bulkhead took a hesitant step forward, reaching out a hand to Sam. "It's all right. Just calm down."

"Calm down? _Calm down_! I was hit by _freaking lightning_, and it was indescribable!" Sam was pacing now, walking in circles and looking around frantically, as though he could find something that would explain the current situation. He finally stopped, pausing only for a moment before striding up to Arcee and looking up at her.

"I need to speak to Optimus. Or Ratchet. You guys know Ratchet, right? Where are they?"

Arcee only stared back at him, both caught in a face-off before she raised her hand to her audio.

"Ratchet, do you copy?"

"There you are! I've been trying to contact you for the past ten minutes! What the slag happened over there? The computers are showing that the bridge failed."

"Not technically, I don't think," Arcee admitted. "But you better get us another bridge, ASAP. We have a bit of a problem."


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** The Traps

**Rating: **T

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers _ and all related characters therein do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary: **A wild hunt for energon, a strange anomaly detected deep under the Siberian tundra, a storm of the century, a lightning strike on experimental technology, and being sucked into an parallel universe? Sam Witwicky figures that he can count this as one of his worser days. Too bad it's only the beginning.

**Universe:** Movie/TFPrime crossover, with most of the story taking placing in Primeverse.

PART II.

Arcee had made everyone walk for several miles before she felt comfortable with asking Ratchet to open another groundbridge. He continued to report odd fluctuations in the surrounding environment's electromagnetic fields, and it was not until they were deep into a pine forest, the sun having just recently set, that Ratchet declared another bridge safe for use.

Sam had been forced to the head of their group, made by Arcee to walk with his back to them while he listened to the high whine of a gun, fully charged, that was immediately trained on him every time he stumbled or made any sort of awkward movement. They mostly traveled in silence; Miko, who had been eager to talk to him before, was being kept well to the back of their procession by Bulkhead. Jack was nearer, as he was following Arcee closely, but he showed little interest in trying to talk to Sam, favoring him instead with suspicious glares. Sam did not particularly mind this. It gave him time to think and to try and figure out exactly what had happened.

He was certain he was still in Siberia—he had spent enough time scouting the landscape for potential research sites that he recognized several of the more distinct landmarks—but that was the extent of his familiarity with the situation. What truly concerned him were the three strange mechs, who Sam could feel watching him the whole way. Miko had called them Autobots, and since they had yet to kill him along with the other three humans, Sam was tempted to believe her. Yet, he recognized none of them. It was possible that they were new arrivals. However, Sam found it hard to accept that, were this the case, they did not know who _he_ was despite Optimus's past assurances that any new Autobots to Earth would have been well-debriefed long before they had landed. On top of that, Miko had introduced one of them as _Bumblebee_. For a few moments, when his head was still foggy from the lightning strike, and his eyes had not yet been able to fully focus, he had thought it _was _Bee. The color, the shape, the form—Sam was sure that his friend had come to save him. But while the mech had greeted him, there had been no acknowledgement, no outrage against Arcee taking up her arms against him, and Sam was finally able to see the subtle, but numerous, differences between his Bee and this one.

All of this, with no sign of the storm that had forced the NEST team to abandon the camp, no hint that they and the Wreckers had explored these same woods.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

There was also nothing Sam could do about it. His wrist communicator was silent, with not even a whisper of activity, and he did not dare to try to send for help with Arcee watching his every move. He could only walk, only do as he was told, with Optimus's voice echoing in his head.

_If you ever find yourself a captive of the enemy, cooperate as best you can, and stay calm. Wherever you are, we will come find you. I promise. _

At least Sam could take some comfort in the fact that they had recognized Optimus's name, that they would defer to his judgment in this strange state of affairs, and that they would take Sam to him. If there was anyone who could help, it would be Optimus Prime.

"All right, stop," Arcee finally said. Sam did, allowing himself to look back over his shoulder at her. "Ratchet, we're ready when you are."

Almost instantly, a bridge opened, its light glaringly bright in the dark twilight of the forest.

"The bridge report is normal," Ratchet announced over Arcee's comm line. "You're in the clear."

It was not a particularly tempting proposition, and with his brief experience with groundbridges, Sam felt justified in raising one skeptical eyebrow at Arcee. She frowned at him, ready to press the issue, but Bulkhead pushed his way up to the front of the line. Miko was up on his shoulder, and she grinned at Sam as they passed.

"You two can stand around all you like," Bulkhead said. "I'm ready to blow this scrapheap."

He disappeared into the bridge, Bumblebee and Raf following moments later with Bumblebee chirping at Sam and waving a hand forwards in encouragement. That left him and Arcee, who tilted her head and motioned with her gun. "After you, kid," she said.

Sam wasn't quite sure what to expect as he stepped through. This time, there was no collapse of darkness, no sensation of being hit in the gut while a heavy pressure compressed around him as though he was deep underwater. Instead, there was only a disc of light, a little warm and dry if Sam had to describe it. He blinked against it, barely taking five steps before emerging into a large, dimly lit room. In the few moments it took his eyes to adjust, he could hear two mechs talking, one of them Bulkhead.

"—the problem?"

"I don't know, Ratchet. You really need to see for yourself."

Whatever Ratchet was going to say next was cut off when he finally saw Sam, his blue optics going wide with incredulity. "You brought home _another_ one?" he accused Arcee, who stepped through the bridge and came to a stop behind Sam, Jack at her feet. Arcee shrugged. 

"Kind of had to," she replied. "Says he knows you."

"Ratchet?" Sam addressed him, almost recognizing him the way he did Bumblebee. "I need to speak to Optimus."

Ratchet stared at him.

"See?" Arcee said.

"He came through the groundbridge," Raf cut in as Bumblebee lowered him to the floor. "Right as it exploded."

"Nearly landed right on top of us," Bulkhead added.

It was too much for Sam, or not enough. Perhaps he had taken a harder hit than he had thought, or maybe he had even been knocked unconscious and this was all some horrible dream, because this was not the base, that was not Bumblebee, and that was not Ratchet.

Sam tightened his grip on the strap of his pack. Will had told him to avoid revealing too much about himself to anyone outside of NEST and the Autobots, and after Egypt, Ironhide had taught Sam how to keep his head down and to avoid attracting attention if he were ever a part of a hostage situation. The NEST team members had all agreed that the best thing to do was to keep quiet, control one's temper, and to always maintain a cool, logical head. So, in all respects, Sam thought that what he was about to do was probably very stupid.

"You said you were going to take me to Optimus."

He was facing Arcee, the skin across his spine crawling as he turned his back to Bulkhead and Ratchet. Sam forced himself to let go of the shoulder strap and keep his hands at his sides. Ironhide and Will had gotten frustrated with him too many times during the training they both insisted he have on his college breaks for him to resort to 'such goddamn flailing' as Will had put it.

"_Keep your hands down,"_ Ironhide had once snapped at him. It had come at the end of a particularly long day that consisted not so much of 'training' as being chased around base by a weapons-crazed Autobot. _"Where you can reach your gun."_

Judging by the way that Arcee flickered her optics briefly at his hip and the way she tightened her grip on her own gun, she knew what he had. Sam squared his shoulders and set his jaw.

"I demand to speak with him, immediately."

"You're not exactly in a position to be making demands, kid," Arcee said. "Tell us how you got through our groundbridge and how you know us."

"No. I'll tell Optimus."

"He isn't here," Ratchet said. Sam flinched, swallowing back the immediate panic that bubbled up into his throat. _They lied_. "He is not scheduled to return for some time, yet."

"Then I'll wait," Sam replied. Arcee shifted her stance, moving to hide Jack behind her.

"Disarm," she said. Sam took a deep breath. 

"No."

_That's it,_ Sam could practically hear Ironhide's voice. _Don't ever give up your weapon unless it's taken from you. Even then, put up a fight. _

He held his ground as Arcee lifted her gun, not training her sights on him but high enough that Sam knew she meant to intimidate him.

"I'm not asking," she said.

"You don't know me," Sam allowed, and he thought that he should be proud of the way that his voice didn't waver. "I don't know you, either. And I was told to never hand over my gun for anyone—neither human nor Autobot." He paused. "Or Decepticons."

Arcee moved so suddenly that, had Sam not been expecting something like it, he would have found himself taking a harder hit than he did. As it was, Arcee's attack was greatly pulled, little more than a brush and overly dramatic movement and intended more to frighten than anything. Still, Sam's instinct had him reaching for his gun, one of Ironhide's designs that had been given to himself and the few other select humans whom Optimus trusted and that could do more damage to a Cybertronian than a standard human-made firearm. Though Sam could wrap his hands around it, Ironhide had made it too heavy, and Sam felt his shoulders strain with the effort of holding above him as he rolled onto his back and aimed it back at Arcee. His pack had been knocked from him, and it was lying a few feet away. Sam thought he could reach it if it became necessary to run. Miko might have shouted something, but with Arcee leaning over him and his heart pounding loudly in his ears, it was only Ratchet's voice he heard.

"Enough!" he said. "Arcee, stand down!"

It was a long, tense moment before Arcee obeyed the command. Though she stepped back and lowered her weapon, Sam was in no hurry to do the same. Despite the heavy, cold weight of his rain-soaked clothes and the chilled air of the base, sweat beaded at his temples.

He climbed back to his feet, allowing himself to let his gun rest at his thigh but not daring to holster it. Sam took some comfort in the fact that Ratchet appeared to be the commanding officer, and he seemed less motivated to blast Sam into a million pieces.

"Now, everyone just settle down," Ratchet said. "Nothing can be done until Optimus returns. Jack, your mother is on her way to pick you children up and bring you home. Arcee, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee—you are to remain on duty until further orders from Optimus. And as for you," he turned to Sam. "You may stay to wait for him. But perhaps you wouldn't mind putting your weapon away."

It was to a raised platform that Sam was directed to wait. Though the base was bare and suited more to Cybertronian needs, there were some modifications to accommodate humans. Sam settled onto a couch and pulled his feet up under his knees. He stared at the TV and gaming system that was hooked up to it; out of everything so far, that seemed the most surreal. While the rec center with which he was familiar was not short on both human and Cybertronian entertainment, this setup fit oddly into the rest of the enormous room. It seemed less of an army base than Sam would have thought was warranted based on Arcee's reactions to his allusions of a Decepticon threat.

Sam leaned back into the cushions, feeling suddenly tired. It had been well past eleven at night when Will had ordered the team to abandon camp, and he was already exhausted from a week's worth of thirteen-hour days. When he had come through the groundbridge, it had not seemed nearly as late. Even so, if they had indeed bridged back to the United States as Sam suspected, then there was at least a twelve hour time difference for which to account, and that thought did little to ease any tiredness. Sam sighed. There were no windows, no clock, and Bumblebee had been sent to go with the Jack, Miko, and Raf to another part of the base—he did not particularly feel like asking any of the other three mechs who remained and who were not exactly being subtle about watching him closely.

They were also talking about him. It was done quietly, but Sam had always found that the Autobots spoke over their comm channels or in their native language when they did not want humans to listen in. The fact that Sam could hear these mechs, and that they were speaking in English, told Sam that they were doing it on purpose. Most likely, it was an attempt to make him say something to reveal more of himself.

Arcee stood with her arms crossed, hips cocked at an angle that betrayed her impatience.

"Have you been able to get a hold of Optimus?" she asked.

"He has been in meetings with government officials throughout the night. I have sent him several priority messages, but I haven't marked any as emergency. I suspect he will contact us when he is able," Ratchet answered.

"His jacket has the Autobot emblem," Bulkhead said. "But what does NEST mean?"

"We should probably be more concerned with his gun," Arcee countered. "And the device around his wrist. He might be an agent of MECH; they wouldn't be above using our emblem to infiltrate our own base. It would also explain how he knows our names."

"You said that he came through the groundbridge?" Ratchet asked. Bulkhead nodded.

"After you reset the connection and right as the second one overloaded."

"Could he have hijacked the bridge?" Arcee asked, but Ratchet scoffed at the notion.

"That's impossible. You can't access a bridge's stream from any point except one of the two end portals. What happened when the bridge malfunctioned?"

"Just what I've already reported," Arcee answered. "The coordinates you provided were the bridge opening up right back where we were. Shortly after that, it exploded."

Ratchet didn't reply. Instead, the light of his optics darkened slightly, and he had his head tilted down and to the right. Something in Sam's throat tightened as he recognized the gesture as the same one the Ratchet he knew used whenever he was concentrating on a problem that had no obvious answer. After nearly a minute, Ratchet looked sideways at Sam, considering him.

"What were you doing before you came through the bridge?" It was an honest question, its underlying tones speaking more of curiosity than interrogation. Nonetheless, Sam just stared back at him. Ratchet cycled his vents in a mechanical sigh and turned away from him to stand in front of his computer as addressed the other three mechs. "Give me copies of any visual feeds you recorded and the results of the diagnostics you ran on the bridge. I'll see if I can find the source of the failure."

Sam was left alone after that. Though everything in him ached to stretch out on the sofa and sleep, he forced himself to concentrate on his unsettled stomach and the dull hurt at the back of his head to keep himself awake. He also watched Arcee, who was unabashedly watching him back with mistrust.

Almost fifteen minutes passed in this edgy state of limbo before an alarm sounded, causing even the mechs to startle.

"Is it Optimus coming?" Bulkhead asked. Sam straightened, stretching his neck to see over the railing at the screens. Ratchet was quick to access the external cameras, which zoomed in on a white sedan that had left the road and was coming toward the base.

"No," Ratchet answered. "Mrs. Darby."

It must have been Jack's mother, whom Ratchet had mentioned earlier. Neither Ratchet nor Bulkhead seemed particularly upset with this announcement, so Sam thought it a little odd that Arcee left even her self-assigned vigil over him to personally retrieve Bumblebee and the kids, despite having comm channels with which to call them.

Mrs. Darby drove into the base with an easy comfort, though she parked against the far wall, well out of the way. She was at least ten years younger than Sam's own mother, and she was dressed in pale, wrinkled scrubs. Even from his spot atop the platform, Sam could see the shadows under her eyes, but she greeted Ratchet with an open, teasing smile.

"Good morning, doctor. Did everything go okay with Jack and everyone today?"

"As well as it usually does," Ratchet replied. "They will all be back here shortly."

"Thank you for watching them overnight. My shifts at the hospital haven't exactly been regular. I'm just glad that it's a Saturday and not a school night—Raf's and Miko's parents would kill me if they found out that I let them stay up so late. But they'll be able to sleep the rest of the morning and then I'll take them to the zoo later in the afternoon. You're welcome to come along, if you like."

"I respectfully decline."

"Suit yourself," Mrs. Darby said. She paused before opening her mouth to say something else, but she stopped when she caught sight of Sam.

"Oh," she said. "Hello."

Sam stayed quiet, concerning himself more with the way that Ratchet turned and focused a sharp gaze on him, waiting to see what he would do. He remained on the sofa as Mrs. Darby climbed the stairs and sat down on the little table in front of him. "I'm June," she said. "Are you a friend of the Autobots, too?"

Both Ratchet and Bulkhead were watching them, and Sam glanced at Ratchet before looking back at June Darby. "Yeah," he answered. "I am."

"What's your name?" 

"Sam. I'm Sam."

June smiled at him. "Picking up more strays, Ratchet?" she asked.

"A skill at which we seem to excel on your planet," he answered. Seemingly convinced with Sam's harmlessness, Ratchet turned back to his computer. "Or perhaps just a disproportionate number of your species has the tendency to show up where they are least expected."

"What happened, Sam?" June questioned, her brows furrowing as she took in his clothing. "You're soaked."

"It was…raining," Sam answered. He had meant to keep silent until Optimus returned, but June seemed friendly enough, and if she was unafraid of these Autobots, then he supposed there wasn't too much harm in revealing that much. He pretended not to notice that, on one of the monitors, Ratchet began to access global weather reports.

"I didn't think it was raining tonight," June murmured. "But look at you. You're actually shivering. Ratchet, I'm surprised at you. Letting him sit here in these wet clothes. He could catch pneumonia. Good thing I have some extra clothes in my car."

She was up and down the stairs before Sam could stop her. After digging around in her trunk, June returned with an armful of mismatched scrubs, shirts, and jeans, talking to herself about how "something should fit."

"While raising Jack, I've learned to prepare for any emergency," June said and handed him a pare of blue scrub pants. "Here, try these. They're a little too big for me, and I don't think you're a whole lot taller than I am. And here's one of Jack's old t-shirts. His grandmother never could get his size right. I've also managed to snatch some hospital socks and underwear."

Sam put up as much of an protest as his exhaustion and confusion would allow him.

"I really don't need them," he said, but it was as useless to argue with June as it was with his mom. She brushed his hands aside and pulled off his coat, and while Sam could admit that removing the cold, heavy weight off his shoulders and back was welcome, less of a comfort was the way she fumbled and sharply inhaled at the sight of his holster and gun. There was no immediate exclamation, no anger, and, worst of all, no fear. Instead, it was the same look his mom had given him when she first saw him with a gun in hand.

"Well, just as I thought," June said, offering him another smile, yet one much dimmed as Sam shrugged the holster off and set it off to the side, next to his pack and within easy reach. "Soaked to the bone."

Sam let June help him into the t-shirt and pants, though he drew the line at the underwear. He greatly resisted the removal of his boots, as everything in him screamed about needing them to run. June pulled them off of him anyway, setting them on the side of the balcony to dry while she used an old shirt to towel off the mud and water from his feet. She passed on the hospital issued socks and found an old pair in her clothing pile that would keep him warmer.

"Thank you," he said.

It was when June reached for the black band around his upper arm, aiming to untie it, did Sam flinch away. He pulled his arm back, twisting his body to get it out of her reach while his other hand came up to cover it, his fingers seeking out the name that had been stamped into the fabric.

"Don't!" he snapped, immediately regretting it and looking away in apology. "Leave it," he added, and June let him keep it.

"So," she said. "How did you come to know the Autobots?"

"I…don't really know," Sam answered.

Ratchet suddenly straightened, the sound of his movement enough to make both Sam and June jump even as he started typing furiously.

"Optimus," he said, and Sam quickly stood, leaving the couch to lean over the railing as Ratchet opened the groundbridge. "Your bridge is ready."

As Optimus stepped through, any small, lingering hope Sam had of there being some sort of _mistake_ vanished. Just like Bumblebee and Ratchet, it was as though someone had taken Optimus and altered him to fit into this strange place where everything seemed just a little bit off; it was like Sam was looking at him through a distorted lens—his memories and the reality overlaid in his mind, and the mismatch made him dizzy. This Optimus was leaner, more thinly built, with smoother and more polished plating. But it still _had _to be Optimus, and not because of the same colors, or the optics, or even the same way that he moved.

It was Optimus because Sam would know him anywhere.

"Optimus," Ratchet greeted him. "The team encountered a problem during their scouting mission. It appears that a human found his way through the groundbridge and, so far, refuses to speak to anyone but you."

Optimus turned to face him, and Sam was painfully aware that he did not have his gear on, and he was standing in old, ill-fitting clothes that would do little to support his credibility.

"I am Optimus Prime. I have been informed by my team that you claim to serve under my command, although I do not believe we have ever met."

_I don't think we have, either_, Sam thought. _At least, not here. Wherever I am_. Still, he was not about to lie to Optimus. Not again.

"My name is Sam Witwicky," he said. "Sector Seven, U.S. government. NEST division, under your authorization."

"That's what he said when we found him, too!"

For a moment, Sam had genuinely forgotten that Miko, Jack, and Raf were there—that they were even _supposed_ to be there—and he pushed down on the thread of annoyance that snapped through him like a cut wire. Bumblebee and Arcee were with them, completing the entourage that left himself and Optimus center-stage. At least Miko seemed thrilled with it all.

"It was totally awesome! Aww, man. The way you came out of the groundbridge—you were like the Terminator! So, are you going to be hanging out with us from now on? Do you like racing games? You can play with me and Bulkhead!"

Miko started to come forwards. Though Sam's fingers only twitched in that brief second it took his exhausted mind to remember that this strange person was indeed only a kid, Optimus took a small step to stand in front of the staircase, simultaneously blocking Miko's path and making it look like he had merely taken a better vantage point to speak with June.

"Mrs. Darby, if you are ready to take the children home, they have all had a long night helping the others scout for energon deposits. While I greatly appreciate the assistance, I do not wish to endanger their health by keeping them from any more sleep."

"Well, I—" she began, hesitant as she looked at Sam, but whatever she saw in Optimus's expression made her nod in agreement instead. "All right. Come on, you three. Time to go."

Though Miko complained, June was able to lead her back to the car and get all three of them into their seats before they left, and Sam remembered how he felt four years previous, when he first learned that humans were not alone in the universe after all. With all five mechs staring at him, he wished for the first time in a long while that he had Mikaela with him. She always knew what to say to them better than he did.

"Look," he said. "I don't know how I got here, either. I don't even know where I am. But my name is Sam Witwicky, and I serve under Optimus Prime of the Autobots."

"You've said that before," Arcee said when Optimus stayed quiet. "But that doesn't tell us how you know about us."

"He said he was with the government," Bulkhead offered. "Maybe he knows Agent Fowler?"

Sam corrected him. "I'm with Sector Seven."

"We have never been informed of the existence of a Sector Seven," Optimus finally spoke up. Sam couldn't help a dry smile.

"I suppose not."

"Sounds more to me like a group associated with MECH, rather than Agent Fowler," Arcee said.

"You've said that before," Sam shot back. "But I don't know what MECH is."

Arcee glared at him. "Optimus, he's lying. We know that Silas was able to steal technology from Breakdown. How else would he have gotten that weapon? Or that watch? We've already seen that MECH is willing to cooperate with the Decepticons."

The metal railing was cold under his palms as Sam gripped it, his knuckles turning white with effort. It was an accusation, an _insult_, and one that he couldn't allow—not when he still couldn't sleep at night for all the ghosts.

"I'm not with the Decepticons!" Sam wasn't entirely sure what else he could do. They didn't believe him, so he started reaching for all of the names of those who could possibly vouch for him. "Ratchet, Chief Medical Officer. Bumblebee, Special Ops. Roadbuster, Topspin, and Leadfoot. Wreckers."

"Optimus, for him to know—"

But Sam wouldn't have it. He kept going, raising his voice to be heard over Arcee. "Sideswipe, infantry. Que, Science Division. Ironhide, weapons specialist and former second in command of Autobot forces—"

Ratchet started, optics going wide. "No one has seen or heard from Ironhide in almost a century," he interrupted. "How would he know of him?"

Sam kept going, attention focused on Arcee, and let each bit of anger and frustration and every other dark emotion that had not yet been allowed an outlet drive his conviction. "Since 2007, we have worked with the Autobots against the Decepticons, led by Megatron—"

"Common—"

"Lord High Protector of Cybertron!"

The silence that came afterwards was so heavy that it choked the rising temper right out of Sam, his voice echoing oddly against the metal walls. Bulkhead, Arcee, and Bumblebee were confused; he could see that much. But Sam had to grit his teeth against the heat that had been building behind his eyes as Ratchet and Optimus looked at him with identical expressions that he didn't want to try and name.

"Arcee, Bumblebee, Bulkhead," Optimus said, his voice quiet. "You three are dismissed."

"But, Optimus," Arcee began to protest.

"Dismissed," Optimus repeated. As Bulkhead did not seem particularly enthused with the order either, it was Bumblebee who buzzed at them, encouraging them to go with him out into one of the connecting hallways. Optimus said nothing, but he didn't have to. Sam knew what he wanted to ask.

"You told me," Sam said.

888888

Optimus's first thoughts were those of anger, and he himself was taken aback by their intensity. Though Sam was a human—alone and frightened, if he was interpreting his preliminary scans correctly—there were _memories _in Sam's revelation: memories that Optimus fiercely guarded from those Autobots who were not themselves old enough to remember.

"You told me," he said.

_No, I wouldn't have._ He couldn't. Not when those millennia-old injuries were still raw and aching, no matter how deeply he had tried to bury them.

Against Optimus's will, there were flashes: visions of the imperial palace in Iacon, his co-ruler of Cybertron, and a dark, sly grin that would send shivers through his spark whenever it was directed at him across the Senate chamber. Before even that, there was adoration, _worship_ of a legendary gladiator who had saved his life during a secret visit to Kaon, when Optimus was still new to his title and resentful of the Council's attempts to isolate him.

Optimus could still feel that first, complete fascination towards such an exceptional mech, uniquely powerful in more ways than one, and he could still feel that equal fascination of him, as well.

"Megatron was never Lord High Protector," Optimus said. Beside him, Ratchet was silent, patient as he played faithfully along with whatever Optimus had planned. Sam flinched, blinking hard as he gripped the railing in front of him. His knuckles turned white with the effort.

"Yes, he was," Sam replied with the conviction of someone who believed in what he was saying.

There was a high probability that Arcee was right; neither the Decepticons nor MECH would be above using each other to further their mutual agendas, and it was not unthinkable that sensitive, albeit ancient, history could be shared when both resources and time were running short. Yet, Optimus could not quite convince himself that this human before him had been trusted with such information, if for no other reason that Optimus knew that Megatron wanted to forget, as strongly as Optimus protected, those memories.

However, the only other explanation that had been offered so far was as equally improbable.

_You told me_.

Within Sam's easy reach was a gun, small but sophisticated; the scans that Ratchet had sent him detailed a unique weapon, a blend of human design and Cybertronian firepower. Around his wrist was another such strange device—Ratchet thought it an external comm system, modified for human portability. He could not be sure, though, as strong firewalls were in place and were preventing any of Ratchet's initial attempts to access the programming. While Optimus did not know the true extent of Sam's abilities, he doubted that Sam had constructed them himself. They were given to him. It was by whom, however, that concerned Optimus.

"The Autobots are not here as the enemies of humans, Sam. It is the Decepticons who are planning to strip your planet of its resources."

"I know."

Optimus waited, but Sam offered nothing more. He considered pressing, but quickly decided against it. Instead, he purposefully relaxed his shoulder struts and carefully noted that Sam did the same. Cycling his vents, he took a small step backwards, aligning himself, Ratchet, and Sam into a small triangle. It made Sam lean back as he tried to keep them both in his line of sight.

"Where is your family?" Optimus asked. For the first time, Sam looked away from him, as if he was searching for anything recognizable in the room around him.

"I'm not really sure," was how Sam answered.

In every respect, this was dangerous. Agent Fowler had never said anything of an organization called Sector Seven, and Optimus had been assured several times over that he had met with every government and military official who knew of their presence on Earth, and those individuals were especially few in number. In addition, Ratchet had no immediate explanation for Sam's appearance through the groundbridge; Sam himself had admitted that he did not know precisely where he was—a fact that diverged from his apparent knowledge of the Autobots and history of Cybertron. Everything logical in Optimus's processor said to report Sam to Agent Fowler, but Sam had been so determined to speak to _him_, and even from his height, Optimus could see scars that, for the briefest of moments, made Optimus nearly think he had met Sam before. This alone was unexpectedly distracting, and he was speaking almost before he himself realized it.

"Sam, you may stay with us for now," Optimus said. "In the meantime, we will help you get back to your family. You will remain here for the night, and Ratchet will help you if you need anything."

It surprised the both of them, but at least Sam stayed where he was while Ratchet followed him out of the main room.

"Optimus!" Ratchet said, jogging to get ahead before turning and stopping, forcing Optimus to do the same. "I'm hoping I can speak freely."

Optimus nodded. "Of course."

The permission was enough for Ratchet to step forward and glare at him, though Optimus doubted would have been needed. "You can't possibly be serious! We have absolutely no idea who this human is, and you go and offer him asylum?"

"If Sam knows of the Decepticons, then he is in danger from them," Optimus replied. "And it is our duty to protect humans from Megatron's forces."

"And what if Arcee's right? And he's with the Decepticons? Or MECH? We have no idea where he is from."

"If he is, then he will not tell us the truth, and it will be all the more critical to obtain information on how he was able to access our groundbridge."

"And that's another thing!" Ratchet exclaimed. "He came through our bridge without accessing either one of the portals. That's _impossible_."

"I have full confidence in your ability to explain exactly what happened with the bridge."

"You realize that you're potentially letting an enemy agent right into our base."

"Which is why I am placing Sam under your direct supervision."

"You tell jokes poorly, Optimus."

"You are the only one I would trust with this, Ratchet. I will be contacting Agent Fowler shortly about Sam and I am hoping that he will shed further light on our situation. You are correct that he may be a MECH agent." Optimus paused, shuttering his optics and refreshing them against the dim lighting of the hallway. Ratchet was staring incredulously back at him, and Optimus could perhaps admit that he was taking an unnecessary risk. "Ratchet, with Megatron's return to Earth, I believe that our recent troubles are only the beginning, and I fear that Megatron's plans have only just begun to unfold. If Sam is indeed telling the truth, then we may have found ourselves another ally against the Decepticons."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** The Traps

**Rating:** M

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ and all related characters therein do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary: **A wild hunt for energon, a strange anomaly detected deep under the Siberian tundra, a storm of the century, a lightning strike on experimental technology, and being sucked into an parallel universe? Sam Witwicky figures that he can count this as one of his worser days. Too bad it's only the beginning. Takes place post-DotM and pre-season one finale.

**Universe: **Prime/Movieverse crossover, with most of the story occurring in Primeverse.

PART III.

At nearly four thirty in the morning, Special Agent William Fowler was on his fifth cup of coffee. It was a pitiful piece of comfort—the last bit of brew to be scraped from the bottom of the pot that would have otherwise been left until the morning shift arrived—but it was all he had against a blossoming migraine and one very displeased Optimus Prime whose unexpected call had resulted in the Secretary of Defense himself ordering Fowler to find out exactly "what the hell" Prime wanted.

The fact that Prime had called the Secretary _first_, had woken him up out of a sound sleep for something that wasn't even a Decepticon attack, would do little to mitigate his dread of the _memo_ that Fowler knew he would inevitably receive later in the day.

And it was all because the Autobots had found another kid, only this one was lost in the middle of Russia, claimed to know the Autobots, work for the United States government, and _for the love of Betsy Ross_, weren't parents even watching their kids anymore these days? It was enough for Fowler to wish he could forget the coffee and that he had just brought his whiskey instead.

"There is no such thing as Sector Seven," Fowler said, voice kept low even though this particular office was deep inside the fortified underbelly of the Nellis Air Force base. From across the video conference screen, Optimus Prime stared back at him.

"He implicated an organization of some secrecy," was the reply. It might have sounded mild, but Fowler could hear the tightness around the sentence's edges. Optimus was unhappy, and he was letting Fowler know it.

"No. There is no such thing as Sector Seven." Fowler knew of every Agency on and off official U.S. documents, knew their Secretaries, knew the secrets and backgrounds of those Secretaries, knew each and every U.S. spy, knew who the spies were of every other country. Intelligence was his job, his specialty, and Sector Seven did not exist because he had never heard of it.

"Do you have a picture?" Fowler asked. The screen shifted, filling with the downwards-angled image of a young man, no older than twenty-five, standing in over-sized pajamas that did nothing to distract from the streaks of dirt and blood around his face and neck.

Despite his sorry state, he looked healthy enough, well fed, and missing the gaunt roughness that would speak of homelessness.

"If he's an American citizen, he shouldn't be that hard to trace," Fowler said as he copied the file to some of his more specialized coworkers. "Facial recognition software. Tax forms, employment and credit history…if the kid even has so much as a Facebook or Twitter, we'll find out who he is. What did you say his name was?"

The screen shifted again, and Fowler almost missed the slight hesitation before Optimus spoke. "Sam Witwicky."

"We should have him under protective custody. From what you've told me, the kid knows an awful lot that he shouldn't. I can have a team ready in—"

"I have already made accommodations for his guardianship," Optimus interrupted. "Whether an agent of MECH or the Decepticons or if he is instead in danger from them, it would be best if he remained with us."

Frowning, Fowler placed his hands on the desk in a slow, deliberate movement. "Careful, Prime. Should the wrong people hear of that, I don't know if even I could make your detention of an American citizen look like anything less than a hostage situation."

"I have always maintained that freedom is the right of all sentient beings," Optimus countered. "And I have no desire to interfere with your laws. But the Decepticons will make no such distinction, and should they wish to have Sam in their custody, we will be able to offer the best protection. In addition, you have yourself admitted that you do not know yet if Sam is under your jurisdiction."

Fowler leaned back in his chair, working his tongue between his teeth as he did so. As cooperative as Optimus was with the government, Fowler had learned early on in his assignment that argument was useless when Optimus had convinced himself of something.

"I'll have an answer by the end of the day," Fowler conceded, and Optimus nodded in acknowledgement.

"I place my trust in your judgment, Agent Fowler, as I hope you will place your trust in mine. I intend that neither of us should ever have cause to regret that trust."

With that, Optimus closed the connection between them, leaving Fowler alone in the conference room.

"That makes two of us," he said.

888888

As he stood on the threshold of the entrance to the central silo of their base, Ratchet took a few precious moments to compose himself before assuming his newly assigned role of guardian. Whatever Optimus had to say on the matter, Ratchet was not as equally prepared to trust Sam Witwicky, and from what he had seen so far, Sam did not seem to trust them much in return.

Ratchet cycled his vents. Optimus would have done better to delegate this job to any of the other three Autobots, who already had plenty of experience in dealing with the particular idiosyncracies of the human species. It would have especially done him better, as he could have devoted his time and focus on finding out how Sam traveled through the groundbridge—a feat that was scientifically _impossible_, despite Arcee's reports and obvious evidence to the contrary.

Ratchet stepped back into the control center, and for a nanoklik, he expected chaos. He knew that Sam was armed, as well as knowledgeable about the basics of Autobot operations, and Ratchet was ready to berate himself for stupidly leaving an unknown agent alone in the most technologically sensitive area of their base.

But Sam surprised him, remaining instead where Ratchet had left him: sitting small and a little huddled on the sofa that the children favored for watching television and playing video games.

They stared at each other; one second, and then another, before Ratchet made the decision to ignore him. If Sam was not going to do or say anything to him, then there was no reason to initiate any sort of dialogue, and he could take the opportunity to get some work done.

Ratchet took his place at his console, turning his back on Sam while still taking a moment to determine which of his sensors to keep trained on the human. Arcee, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee devoted a small but significant portion of their processing power to keeping watch over their own human charges, but Ratchet was not entirely sure how much of that was by choice, fulfilling the necessities of guardianship, or a preemptive measure against the children's seeming disregard for their personal safety, like Miko's tendency to poke at anything and everything she happened to find around base.

With a scowl, Ratchet chose to simply monitor the boy's movements and vital signs That would be enough to make sure that Sam did not start wreaking havoc or drop dead on the spot, which ought to fulfill whatever requirements Optimus had for guardianship.

Though Ratchet had not completed as much research on human physiology that he would have liked after his initial failure in helping Rafael against the infection of dark energon, his foundation was solid enough, and the first few scans of Sam's vitals returned results that were within the ranges accepted as normal for a young adult male. The only thing that could maybe make Ratchet hesitate were the slightly elevated heart rate and the blood that had run along Sam's left eyebrow and down his cheekbone. The wound was minor, the blood already drying, but Ratchet nevertheless turned his head to look back over his shoulder at Sam.

"You are injured," he said.

Sam, who had been examining the rest of the room from his spot on the couch, blinked in incomprehension.

"Your eye," Ratchet clarified. "And there would appear to be some inflammation around your lower lumbar."

Sam reached up to wipe a hand across his forehead. The blood beneath his fingers flaked and smeared across the tips of his fingers, but he did not seem to be outwardly alarmed by it.

"It's fine," he replied. "Don't worry about it."

"Very well."

Satisfied that he had gone above and beyond what was ordered of him, Ratchet turned back to the monitors. He pulled up the data on the last groundbridge, but aside from the 'bridge's unexpected malfunction, there was no immediate sign of damage or structural flaw.

Ratchet shuttered his optics. This meant he would have to go line by line in the code and search for the error. It was a job that would take several megacycles to complete and one that, until completed, would prevent him from allowing anyone to use the bridge until he found the problem.

Sam spoke up from behind him.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

Biting back a growl, Ratchet turned and narrowed his optics. "Can't you hold it?" he asked.

Sam visibly considered the question.

"No."

It was with a great strength of will that Ratchet refrained from some fairly colorful expletives; instead, he groaned and rubbed at the space between his optics. He had not yet even begun his work on the groundbridge, and if this was only the beginning of a near future faced with regular, inane interruptions, then Optimus was going to be due for a particularly invasive checkup during his next physical examination.

Ratchet could not exactly send Sam off on his own, either. Even if there was really nothing especially sensitive for Sam to stumble upon, Arcee had made it clear enough that she was tolerating Sam's presence only at Optimus's discretion. Her discovery of him wandering around the base alone offered no favorable outcome, no matter how many scenarios Ratchet calculated.

"Fine, then. Come on," he finally said. Sam reached for his pack, but aborted the motion at the last second before heading down the stairs. Ratchet approved. The boy had enough sense to avoid an argument about carrying strange equipment and weaponry around their base. It was bad enough that they were letting him keep it to begin with.

Sam went with him as Ratchet led the way down one of the adjacent hallways, but he stayed well out from under Ratchet's feet in a way that the other three children sometimes forgot to do, and there was no hint of intimidation of the size difference between them. Perhaps Sam had not lied when he said that he had been around Cybertronians before. Whether or not those Cybertronians were _Autobots_ had yet to be determined, though Ratchet had to admit that the idea of the Decepticons, of Megatron, cooperating with humans to the point of familiarity was stretching the limits of believable imagination.

"This is an old missile silo," Sam said, breaking the silence that Ratchet thought had not needed breaking.

"Acute observation," he replied. He could admit to that much, if Sam already guessed it, but despite his attempt to end the conversation, Sam furrowed his brows and ran a hand along a corroded patch of wall as they passed it.

"Why are you staying here?"

"We have been informed by your government, on numerous occasions, that your species is not ready to learn of our presence on your planet."

Sam stopped, and Ratchet went a few steps before he realized it. When he turned, Sam was staring up at him with a heavy frown pulling down on the corners of his mouth.

"But everyone knows," he said. Ratchet arched an optical ridge.

"While humans do have the inexplicable tendency to source tabloid journalism as undeniable evidence of UFOs, I do not think that counts as adequate cultural preparedness for learning of extraterrestrial life."

Sam shook his head as though he were trying to clear away a troublesome insect and shifted oddly in place, like he could not decide whether to move forwards or backwards.

"The Autobots saved Earth," he said. Ratchet might have taken issue with his strange use of the past tense, but Sam continued on. "With Megatron gone, there's no reason to—"

"Megatron is very much still on Earth," Ratchet corrected him. "And he remains a significant threat to your planet. We must remain in hiding if we are to keep from forcing him to reveal himself as well."

Sam completely and utterly stilled. He paled, to the point that Ratchet thought he might need to catch Sam if he fell.

"Megatron's alive?"

Ratchet narrowed his optics. "Of course he is. You said yourself that you knew of him."

"_No_," Sam hissed. "No, Megatron's dead. Didn't you hear? Didn't they tell you?"

Ratchet twitched, his processor catching on that interesting piece of information.

"Who?" he asked, but to little avail. Sam was eyeing his surroundings as though he expected Megatron himself to appear out of the shadows, and the sensors Ratchet had trained on the boy were returning alarming spikes in blood pressure, heart rate, and adrenaline. His oxygen levels were increasing exponentially in the beginning stages of shock. "Sam," Ratchet said. "Where have you been?"

"I need the bathroom," Sam managed to respond, and Ratchet had seen that expression before, when the flu had been making its rounds through Jack's school a few weeks previous and June had requested that they pick him up while she tried to get off early from the hospital. Ratchet quickly stepped aside and gestured towards a nearby door; Sam took it in enough time for a rapid purge of his systems. It was a sad, ailing sound, and it prickled unpleasantly at the very base of Ratchet's medical programming.

Ratchet kneeled, bracing himself with one hand against the floor as he checked through the doorway that would otherwise be too small to admit him. Sam had not been sick for long, but he was still slumped miserably against the sink, the fingers of both hands massaging small circles into his temples.

For a few uncomfortable minutes, Ratchet was at a loss; with the Autobots, he knew how to handle illness, and millennia's worth of war had taught him to how to handle the less tangible effects of trauma, shellshock, and emotional distress. But with humans…his experience was not so broad. His teammates had forged close bonds with their respective human friends, and it was to them who the children went first if they were upset with anything. Moreso, none of them had ever reacted as badly to the idea of Decepticons, Megatron, or his continued functioning as Sam did.

For all of this, Ratchet was in new territory.

"Sam," he tried. "Are you all right?"

Weakly, Sam shook his head, but Ratchet could not be entirely sure if it was in response to his question or something else altogether.

"This is a dream," Sam whispered. His voice was soft and crumpled. "See, that's just what this is: a really bad dream. I know because I saw it, okay? I saw him die. He _died_." He stopped, his throat visibly working around his next words. "They all did."

"Let's go back to the main hangar," Ratchet said, offering a hand to help Sam up, but Sam neglected to take it as he pushed himself to his feet. "Maybe I should get Optimus."

"No," he said. "No, I think I just need to lie down for a bit."

Ratchet withdrew, letting Sam finish his original purpose for this little trip, though he noted that Sam took several deep drinks from the faucet; the children did have some water bottles stored away, but the base was not adequately set up for extended human inhabitation. Perhaps it would not hurt to have Agent Fowler or Mrs. Darby bring some more supplies.

Sam followed him back, but in a way much more subdued than before. Ratchet had not realized how conditioned he was to the noise of the children, nor how soundlessly a human could move to a Cybertronian's audials; he found himself checking every few feet to make sure Sam was still there.

When they returned, Sam climbed back to his spot on the sofa and curled up on his side, facing the back cushions, and he flung an arm over his eyes to block out the light, the picture of exhaustion.

Ratchet stood there, not quite sure what to do. He had work that needed to be completed, but this was getting strange. An hour earlier, he might have believed any of the proposed explanations for Sam's inexplicable knowledge of the Autobots: an agent of MECH, a governmental affiliate of Agent Fowler, or even a skilled hacker who had somehow been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But now, none of them seemed right.

Sam had refused Ratchet's offer to contact Optimus, but Ratchet pinged him anyway. If Sam was so willing to speak with Optimus earlier, then perhaps he would be so again. Optimus confirmed, but indicated a wait. Since Ratchet could not reasonably claim an emergency, he would have to accept it. At any rate, he could begin his work on the groundbridge, and Sam seemed to have already fallen asleep.

88888

When Sam woke, he did so slowly, managing only a sluggish climb out of a restless sleep and dreams of cold and fire and blizzards. He felt slow, maybe even more tired than when he first lied down, and even without the benefit of a clock, he knew he hadn't slept for long. Perhaps because his muscles felt too heavy to move, Optimus and Ratchet hadn't realized that he was awake yet. Sam was in no hurry to correct them, because once his senses began to catch up, he realized they were talking about him.

"It's not what he knows, Optimus. It's what he _doesn't_. He knows about us, our names and even the names of Autobots who have been dead for centuries, but he doesn't recognize us. He knows Cybertronian history, and yet he was surprised when I told him that Megatron was still alive."

"I am hoping that Agent Fowler will be able to provide us with the answers we need," Optimus said. "As I am hoping so will your research into the groundbridge failure."

"Well, that's another nest of scraplets," Ratchet replied. "I can't find the problem. Well, not exactly," he corrected.

"What do you mean?"

"It's the math. There's a mismatch between what equations are in the coding and those that are in my diagnostic on the 'bridge itself. But, Optimus, it's not that they're wrong. They're _slightly_ wrong. I might be able to say it is within the acceptable range of error…on any other diagnostic on any other 'bridge."

"And the source of the error?" Optimus asked.

There was a hard, metallic sound, and without being able to check for himself, Sam thought maybe Ratchet had brought a fist down against his work station. His own Ratchet did that often enough whenever he was frustrated about something.

"I've been trying to answer that for almost two hours," Ratchet said. "And it's complicated. 'Bridges manipulate space on a quantum level and, slag it, Optimus, I'm a medic, not a physicist. I can operate a 'bridge and even troubleshoot it, but this is getting beyond my level of expertise."

"What would you need to perform a better analysis?"

"Perceptor," Ratchet replied in the way that he might have asked for Primus himself. "Or Operon. Or anyone of the Science Consulate who knew what the Pit they were talking about. The only one who might know anything at this point is Sam, and he hasn't exactly been eager to talk. We can only imagine why not."

Sam kept still, wanting to hear what Optimus said next.

"I…do not think Sam means any harm."

"Oh? And What makes you say that?"

But whatever Optimus was going to answer, or whether he was going to respond at all, Sam didn't get to find out. There was a loud crack, and a sound so much like an explosion that Sam rolled to his feet, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun, and he faltered when he didn't find it holstered around his waist. Optimus and Ratchet had jumped, startled, but they were distracted enough by Sam's sudden movement that they had not pulled their own weapons.

In less than a second, the lights of the base flickered and went briefly dark before there was a deep thrum as the power kicked over to the emergency generators. Though Ratchet's computer station remained active and running, the overhead lights changed to the much lower-powered standby lamps.

So, not an explosion, then.

"Thunder," Sam murmured to himself before he realized that both Autobots were staring at him. "That was…loud," he added lamely.

"Was there any damage to the base?" Optimus asked as Ratchet turned to his monitors.

"All equipment powered by energon remains unaffected," Ratchet said. "But all utilities that draw from the local energy grid are now on backup power sources."

The end of Ratchet's statement was followed by a distant, thrumming sound—and from all his time spent around Sideswipe and Bumblebee as they raced each other around their base, Sam recognized the sound as the straining purr of an engine running high and hot. Ratchet and Optimus heard it too, and they looked up just as Bumblebee came tearing into the main hangar.

He was transforming before he even began to come to a stop, shaking a heavy spray of water off his plating like a dog after a bath. Ratchet sputtered at him, trying to shove him away even as Bumblebee trilled and tried to duck behind him.

Arcee came in behind Bumblebee, already in bipedal form and walking more sedately, but she too was soaked, and she flared her plating to loosen the little bits of hail that had gotten stuck in the seams.

"Arcee?" Optimus prompted, and there was a thread of discontent in his voice For whatever reason, Optimus had not expected to see her.

"We had to cut our patrol short," Arcee replied. "It's getting ugly out there. A thunderstorm just came out of nowhere, and some of the roads are flooded out."

There was another heavy crash of thunder, remarkably loud through the thick walls of the base, and Bumblebee keened from his spot behind Ratchet, the door panels on his back drooping lower.

"A storm?" Ratchet repeated, surprised. "I haven't been tracking any new systems."

Yet, even as he said it, Ratchet turned to his console and, with a few quick keystrokes, the center screen filled with the video feed from a local news station, with a looping doppler image in the upper right corner. The sky had gone violent, and black, and little could be seen against through the sheets of rain, with tree branches being tossed around by the wind. The few vehicles that passed by the camera's view looked small and fragile against the weather, and the screen itself was crowded with red, scrolling messages. Memories of the storm in Siberia flashed behind Sam's eyes like the lightning itself, and he shivered.

"—_National Weather Service has issued a severe thunderstorm warning for Clark, Lincoln, and Nye counties, and there is a flashflood warning in effect for Clark and Nye counties," _came the off-camera voice of the weatherman. _"A sudden low pressure system has developed over northeast Arizona, and it is moving westward. This is a large, powerful storm cell and may be capable of producing heavy rain, strong winds, hail, and frequent lightning, with possible tornadoes. We will continue to monitor the system, and we encourage all viewers to take adequate and immediate shelter. Again, the National Weather—" _

Ratchet muted the feed.

"Where is Bulkhead?" he asked.

"He went to pick up Jack and the others," Arcee answered. "He thought everyone should wait the storm out here."

"That may be for the best," Optimus said, still watching the video feed, though both his tone and his expression remained neutral. The back of Sam's neck prickled. He had always found Optimus to be at his most inscrutable whenever something took him off guard and he was displeased about it. "I did not think any such weather was being predicted, nor that it was common for this time of year."

"It wasn't, and it's not," Ratchet said as he clicked through the different news reports, almost faster than Sam could keep up. "It looks like the storm developed unexpectedly over the past hour. Power outages are being reported as far south as Laughlin, and there's flooding in Las Vegas. Jasper's right in the middle of its path, and so are we."

"Do you anticipate any immediate threat?"

"No," Ratchet answered, though he had to think about it first. Optimus hummed.

"Then yes," he said. "It would be wise to have the children remain here until it is otherwise safe for them to return to the city."

Straightening up a little in his spot, Bumblebee rose to peek over the railing at Sam and chirped at him. It didn't sound like the typical, meaningless sounds that Sam was used to hearing—those small bits of wordless expression used to supplement the Cybertronian language—it sounded like a sentence in and of itself.

"What?" he asked, a little stupidly.

"He asked if you wanted to play a game," Ratchet explained.

"Bumblebee's vocal processor was damaged in battle." Optimus had spoken this time, though he had not turned to look at Sam as he did. It was an odd elaboration to make, and a sudden apprehension made a cold slide down Sam's spine.

"Battle," Sam repeated.

It was wrong, of course. Or, rather, it was _slightly wrong_, to borrow Ratchet's earlier phrasing. Bumblebee had lost his vocal processor during an interrogation, an excessively violent one performed by Megatron himself, but Sam stopped short of correcting him. These Autobots may have taken the names, general apperance, and even the behavior of those he knew, but Sam had yet to figure out why. Ever since his arrival, his brain had entertained even the wilder possibilities, including Pretenders, Decepticon spies, even a covert group of Autobots who had taken the designations of higher ranking mechs for aliases.

Sam rejected them all.

He did believe they were Autobots. From this spot, he could see the emblem stamped into their armor, and it was even engraved into the floor. There were the other humans, and the connections to the U.S. government…all of it was the same, but it still wasn't right, and he couldn't trust them.

Ratchet and Arcee were silent, Optimus shifting minutely to look at Sam out of the corner of his optics.

_Tell me how it really happened. Tell me what you know._

They were testing him. Interrogating _him_ with classic Autobot methodology, and, despite whether or not he should, Sam instinctively rebelled against it. If they truly were Autobots, they would let him get away with it, though he would have to be vigilant for when they tried again and inevitably used a different, more subtle approach.

Sam purposefully relaxed, releasing the tension that had coiled through his muscles like a spring, and he smiled at Bumblebee.

"I'd love to play a game with you."


End file.
